


adrenaline

by cliche_username



Series: team-work makes the dream work [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bang Chan is Chris Bang, Dark Humor, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, OT3RACHA, Panic Attacks, Seo Changbin mentioned, Team as Family, depression not otherwise specified, discussion of intrusive thoughts/suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliche_username/pseuds/cliche_username
Summary: Jisung has an anxiety attack, as you do.





	adrenaline

**Author's Note:**

> can anyone say "projecting?"
> 
> also, the tags mention discussion of intrusive thoughts: these entail suicidal/self-harm ideations that are not actively pursued by the characters or endorsed by any party. it's recognized as screwed-up and sad but they do go into some detail and if that doesn't vibe with you, please feel free to skip from "Jisung blows a raspberry" to "Lucky fucker" or to backspace straight outta here if you need to. watch out for yourselves, neighbors.

It starts quietly, as it usually does. One moment they’re chilling in the studio, Jisung tapping his fingers against his notebook page as he works on lyrics, and the next moment Jisung is tilting his head back and clutching both arms of the office chair he’s laid claim to. Chris catches the motion out of the corner of his eye and looks up, registering the tension written all over his face, and he pushes off his headphones.

“Sung?” He says.

“Adrenaline,” Jisung whispers. “I’m fine.” As if timed just to prove him wrong, his body jerks. The line of his mouth, already tense, tilts sideways. Jisung breathes in deep through his nose, out through his mouth, and his upper body jerks once more and then his leg kicks out hard. Once, twice, three times. 

“Do you have a number?” Chris asks.

“Four, maybe five,” Jisung says. “Just adrenaline. I’m fine, it just needs to--” he breaks off again to breathe in, except that it catches in his vocal cords and turns into a whimper. “I’m okay. Swear I’m okay.”

“Touch or no touch?” Chris asks, instead of pressing. Jisung shakes his head, hard. “No touch,” Chris says. He rolls his chair over next to Jisung’s, out of kicking range but close enough to be considered in Jisung’s corner. “Number?”

Jisung falters. “Six,” he says. He unclenches one of his hands from the arm of the chair and knocks his fist against it as he breathes in: count of six, pause for two, and then eight counts breathing out. “I feel like if I let it go any further I’m definitely going to spiral and then the entire afternoon’s going to be screwed.”

“Well,” Chris replies. “It’s not screwed yet. Talk or listen?”

“Yes.”

“How’s progress?” Chris retrieves Jisung’s notebook from its precarious position in his lap. Most of the open page is scribbles, with a few sentences heavily crossed out. In place of a reply, Jisung blows a raspberry.

“My brain is a bag of mush and I haven’t thought of something I haven’t written about already in, like, twelve days,” he says. “I have to keep reminding myself that jumping off bridges is not a problem solver, it’s a problem creator.” 

“Mm. That shit,” Chris agrees. “Like, dude, I’m trying to get shit done, it’ll take even longer if I have to take a detour to throw myself down the stairs. What are you thinking.” Jisung snorts.

“I don’t have the fucking time to walk in front of a bus, I have deadlines and  _ can you imagine  _ Chris and Binnie-hyung trying to get this done on their own? They’d lose their minds. Jeez.” He opens one eye and smiles at Chris. 

“We sure as hell would,” Chris agrees. “I’d have to tell Binnie that my brain doesn’t want to listen to me, and I’d scare the shit out of him.”

“Lucky fucker,” Jisung mutters. “Brain that works when it’s supposed to. Some of us can only dream.” He sighs. “Dammit, my hands are sore.” The remark comes out of nowhere, sulky and matter-of-fact, and Chris laughs.

“How are we?” He asks. Jisung’s mouth twists, but thoughtfully.

“Maybe a three,” he says. “Probably gonna spaz out some more. Might scare the shit outta Binnie-hyung when he gets back, but--” he presses two fingers to the side of his neck. “I think I’m levelling out.”

“Good. See what I’m working on, maybe we can figure out something new,” Chris says. “If in doubt--” He breaks off as Jisung freezes.

“Flip it all over,” he says. “Flip it all over, yeah.” He presses his arms down hard against the armrests and his back arches a little. “Um. Shit.”’

Chris leans forward. “Number?”

“Eight,” Jisung hisses. “It just came back all of a sudden, shit, shit, argh--” He pulls in a breath through clenched teeth and lets it out on a whimper. His hands splay open and clench back into fists. 

“Touch? No touch?” Chris asks. Jisung’s hands splay open again, stretching like they’re trying to be as open as Jisung to get them.

“Touch. Please,” Jisung whispers.  He holds out one hand and Chris takes it. Immediately Jisung’s hanging on to him as if for dear life, tight enough to hurt, and his free hand taps a tempo on the arm of the chair  _ one-two-three-four-five  _ and then he loses it to another whimper. Chris takes over the count, scooting closer and tapping it against Jisung’s knee, until he’s shaken off when Jisung jerks again.

“Hold, hold, one, two, three, four,” Chris says, as level as he can manage, squeezing Jisung’s hand tighter as the rest of Jisung’s body goes rigid. “You’re doing good, Sung-ah. You’re doing good. Do you think you can move somewhere else? If this goes on, your neck might get thrown out.” 

Jisung swallows, and then he nods. He pushes with his free hand and pulls where he’s hanging on to Chris and somehow he gets upright, and he’s shaking visibly but the line of his mouth and the set of his eyebrows is all determination. He gets up, and Chris follows, and Jisung uses him somewhat like a pinball machine: throwing himself against him and then pushing off towards the couch with big, lurching steps. He pitches into it face-first and then rolls onto his side, catching his breath before another jerk presses him flat against the back of the couch. Chris kneels next to the couch as his breath catches once, twice, and then is forcefully steadied.

“Still touch?” Chris asks. Jisung nods and holds out one hand, pressing the other one against his stomach. “Nausea?” Chris asks, subjecting his hand to be squeezed and squeezing back. Jisung nods. His grip on Chris’s hand tightens as he jerks back and then forward. “You need to breathe, Sung-ah,” Chris whispers. “Deep breaths. Come on. One-two-three--” he counts as he taps against their clasped hands with his free one. Jisung breathes in and out, long and slow, eyes squeezed shut. The silence stretches around Chris’s counting.

Then Jisung says, “hyung,” and his breath catches rapid-fire too many times for Chris to count. “ _ Hyung,”  _ Jisung says again, “I’m sorry, I think I’m going over.” He coughs around a catch in his breath and breathes in hard and sharp and Chris gets up off the floor and onto the couch and pulls Jisung into his arms. 

It’s at once indistinguishable and unmistakable when Jisung finally spirals into a panic attack. The lead-up is easier to identify: Jisung’s adrenaline spikes and all his muscles decide to stage a revolt as his fight-or-flight reflex tries to figure out whether or not it’s needed. It gives him the look of someone whose body doesn’t belong to them, but to something else living inside them. The attack itself, though, is quiet: it steals the air from his lungs and most of the fight from his limbs and all he can do is shake, shake, shake.

“Just keep breathing, Jisungie,” Chris whispers. “You can do it. Just keep breathing. Big deep breaths for hyung.” Jisung has both his hands pressed against his eyes, so Chris keeps one arm around him and runs his other hand through Jisung’s hair.  He taps his fingers against Jisung’s ribs in steady four-four time, and he can feel Jisung fighting to tune his breathing to match. He’ll get a few measures and then lose one, catch a few measures and lose a few more, the patterns occasionally broken by a gasp and a cough as his windpipe decides it doesn’t want to be helpful.

The minutes stretch out, silent save for Chris’s murmuring and the hitch and drag of Jisung’s breath. Chris moves his hand from Jisung’s hair to rub wide circles into his back and then to wrap his arm around Jisung’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer as his breathing begins to even out. It could be a few minutes or a million years later when Jisung sighs, a great gust of a sigh, and reaches up to tap his hand to Chris’s against his shoulder.

“How are we doing?” Chris asks, as he lets go.

“I don’t want to hate myself,” Jisung replies. Even without Chris holding him he remains where he is, head resting against Chris’s chest. His voice is muted, weary-sounding, but it’s steady. Chris can be glad for that, at least.

“You’re on the right track,” he says. Then, “you’ve worked hard.” He reaches his one hand that doesn’t know what to do with itself around to Jisung, and Jisung takes it. He doesn’t squeeze or cling, but he runs his thumb along the back of Chris’s knuckles and sighs again.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything, hyung. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chris’s mind goes, briefly, to a smaller, softer boy that met him on the third floor of the old building and trailed after him for weeks and weeks, talking and talking and cracking him open bit by bit. 

“Anytime, Jisungie,” he says. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, either.” 

Jisung squeezes his hand a little bit. “That’s probably not a good sign, but whatever.”

Chris laughs. 

**Author's Note:**

> ye so this was just me projecting for 1k+ and also fulfilling my own desire to see some more Han-centric hurt/comfort that didn't involve shippiness or the word 'squirrel'. (I have a lot feelings about the word 'squirrel' and how it seems to represent in my mind a... not quite a mis-characterization? but an under-characterization of Jisung. my boy is so much more than a cute squirrel for people to coo at and make fun of. this isn't quite a fic to prove that, but I'm working on it.)
> 
> i post sporadic han jisung // other skiz content// some other stuff over at @captainpeggys on tumblr. feel free to come by and say hi, and thanks so much for reading!


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